


way past playing hard to get

by whogoesupyourwindingstair



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Bottom Zayn, Face-Fucking, M/M, PWP, Queening, Rimming, brief references to subspace, mild d/s dynamics
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-16
Updated: 2015-02-16
Packaged: 2018-03-13 03:03:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,611
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3365327
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whogoesupyourwindingstair/pseuds/whogoesupyourwindingstair
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Zayn’s fucking <i>weak</i> for Niall’s tongue.</p>
            </blockquote>





	way past playing hard to get

**Author's Note:**

> Everything I know about them I learned from fic and gif sets on tumblr. My most sincere apologies if Everything Is Wrong.
> 
> Thanks to Ducky and Nyx for looking this over for me and telling me when I'd lost the plot. Title is a bastardized lyric from Change Your Ticket because I'm shameless.

Zayn’s fucking _weak_ for Niall’s tongue. Literally – Niall can’t rim him while he’s on his hands and knees because his legs give out. Then there’s the fact that Niall could have him do fucking _anything he wanted_ if it meant getting eaten out later on, but Niall’s usually sweet about not taking advantage of that fact, happy to eat him out whenever Zayn asks, and pretty often when he doesn’t. He says that it’s hot, making Zayn lose his mind like that; he’s definitely come while rimming him before. Zayn has been looking forward to their next break, eager to have three days with nothing to do but screw his boyfriend, especially since Niall’s easy-going and obliging and happy to let Zayn call the shots when he wants.

Except, apparently, tonight.

Zayn stares at him, dumbfounded, and asks, again, “ _What_?”

Niall shrugs, sprawled every which way with his hands behind his head. He’s still more than half-hard, cock lying against his stomach, looking like he hasn’t got a care in the world. “You don’t have to, but-“

“That’s the only way you’re going to do it tonight,” Zayn finishes for him, scowling. “Yeah, I heard you the first time.”

Niall smiles, like Zayn isn’t slowly dying of mortification and frantically weighing his dignity against his libido. “You’ll love it and you know it,” Niall says smugly. Zayn knows no such thing. In point of fact, he thinks that this is a terrible idea and possibly counts as blackmail. 

“I’ll _smother you_ ,” Zayn says. “I won’t be able to hold myself up and then you will _suffocate._ ”

“Oh, come off it.” Niall rolls his eyes. “Hold yourself up by the headboard, and worst comes to worst, I’ll push you off. You’re not exactly _massive_ , love.” Zayn opens his mouth to respond, and he quickly adds, “Clock’s ticking, babe. Do it or don’t, but let’s get on with it, yeah?”

Zayn glares at him, thinking he should _definitely_ just go with ‘don’t’, if for no other reason than Niall’s ridiculously cocky attitude – but his ass is still a little tingly from five minutes before, when Niall’s hands were all over it and he was promising Zayn that he’d make him come twice tonight, without touching his cock once. Zayn had _believed_ him, the bastard, and now he’s going to gip Zayn out of his orgasms because he’d had a whim. Zayn _deserves_ those orgasms, dammit.

Which is how Zayn finds himself straddling Niall’s face forty second later, glaring at the wall now and wishing he’d taken that downtime that afternoon to shave like he’d meant to instead of taking a nap. This feels about a hundred times more intimate than it does when Zayn’s on his back with Niall between his legs. He knows, objectively, that Niall’s got basically the same view, but Zayn’s hyperaware of – fuck, of _everything_ , mind racing a mile a minute while Zayn prays for a swift death or for Niall to hurry the fuck up and eat him, already, so Zayn can stop thinking.

Niall hums, hands squeezing Zayn’s thighs possessively, and Zayn feels some of his tension dissipate, almost despite himself. He sighs and leans forwards, resting his forehead against the wall, his fingers white-knuckled around the headboard, and waits for. Something. Anything.

“’M not sure it’s going to work very well this way. Turn around, yeah?”

Not that.

Zayn bites back the first three sarcastic comments that try to roll off his tongue but doesn’t catch the fourth in time. “And here I thought you’d actually thought this through.”

Niall smacks his ass, hard and fast, so that Zayn jerks forward with a gasp. Niall kisses the underside of the cheek he hit, and says, “Work with me a little, beautiful.”

Zayn shifts awkwardly until he’s facing the opposite direction and staring at Niall’s cock. Niall’s legs are spread carelessly, knees cocked to the side, and it almost looks like an invitation. Zayn imagines shifting down a couple of inches and swallowing Niall’s cock, drooling around it like a slut while Niall stares as much as he likes at Zayn’s ass, since he’s so keen to get up close and personal with it. But Niall’s hands are back on his legs, teasing short, fine hairs that continue to stubbornly grow on his inner thighs so matter what Zayn does to them. Niall says they tickle, and pouts whenever Zayn shaves.

“That’s better,” Niall says, with an obscenely pleased sigh. He nudges Zayn’s legs apart a little bit more, until Zayn’s straddling the width of Niall’s shoulders and Niall says, “Come down here, Zayn. I only bite a little.”

“What are you, twelve?” Zayn grumbles. Niall pinches his ass, hard, but doesn’t respond otherwise, and Zayn’s pretty sure that his grace period has officially ended.

Zayn lowers his hips slowly, three inches suddenly taking an eternity to close. Niall guides him, hands on his hips, so Zayn’s ass lands square over his mouth. Niall’s good at what he does, and his mouth is wet, but closed and unsurprising when it meets Zayn’s skin. He kisses him, so gently that it’d be ridiculously chaste in any other context, before parting his lips and digging his fingertips into Zayn so he can’t move away.

Zayn gasps helplessly at the first kitten-lick Niall gives his rim, and shudders through the ones that follow. He squeezes his eyes shut, eyebrows knit fitfully, and doesn’t bother trying to keep his mouth shut. He pants while Niall teases him with just the tip of his tongue, almost dipping it into Zayn before he’s pulling back to kiss him from his tailbone to his balls, before he’s licking Zayn with lewd, wide swaths, getting him so wet it feels like he’s dripping, before he uses just his teeth to pluck at the individual folds of Zayn’s rim.

Zayn’s thighs are shaking dangerously already. His mouth’s hanging open with his tongue half out of his mouth, and he’s sure he looks like an idiot but he doesn’t give half a shit. He tips forward, almost on purpose, so he can brace his hands on the bed in further effort not to simply collapse, and whimpers through every second of Niall _almost_ pushing his tongue into him.

Niall shifts his grip so his hands are on the tops of Zayn’s thighs, preventing him from moving away but letting Zayn’s hips begin to move in restless circles. Zayn doesn’t know how long he’s been trying to fuck back onto Niall’s face, but his face is burning red now that he actually is, hips grinding back like if they can move in tight enough circles, Niall will give in and stick his tongue in him. Instead, he just fucking _nuzzles_ into Zayn’s ass, grinding his stubble against sensitive skin until Zayn yells with it, hips coming down heavier and back arching hard.

Zayn’s shaking all over, whole body trembling like he’s run a marathon by the time Niall changes his grip again. His hands cover Zayn’s ass this time, thumbs pulling gently at his now-violently red rim, and holding him taught so Niall can stiffen his tongue and sink it into him.

Zayn keens obnoxiously loudly and his limbs give up, sagging like his strings have been cut. Niall’s grip on him keeps his ass mostly in place, but Zayn all but face-plants into Niall’s abs. Niall grunts in discomfort but doesn’t remove his tongue, something for which Zayn is fervently grateful for. He mouths at Niall’s stomach mindlessly in thanks, wondering at the sheer amount of effort that would be involved in turning his head to the side so that he could mouth at Niall’s dick instead, while his hips try to bounce on Niall’s face. Niall allows the movement, to some degree, and moves his tongue in time.

And then he starts humming.

Zayn has no idea _what_ he’s humming, but he’s pretty sure that he’s actually going to cry. His whole body is tingling and his cock is leaking all over Niall’s neck and upper chest, bouncing with his hips. Zayn watches it, and what he can see of Niall’s chin, through slitted eyes, wondering if it counts as narcissism to get off on how his body looks when Niall’s getting him off. Probably. Who cares?

He whines brokenly when Niall pushes him up, hands twisting in the bedding next to Niall’s hips fitfully. Niall’s breathing heavily, but Zayn can feel his smirk when he presses it to Zayn’s thigh in between kisses.

“C’mon,” Niall says, patting Zayn’s ass fondly. “Want you to ride my face properly, yeah?” He sets his teeth into Zayn, so hard Zayn can feel the imprint of his teeth remain when he pulls back and Zayn has to reach down briefly to touch himself. Niall laughs, smug, and helps him back onto his knees, Zayn’s hands braced on Niall’s hips for leverage.

Zayn loses track of time. He feels weak all over and his hearing’s gone funny like it does when he trips and falls into that floaty, nowhere place he goes sometimes during sex. Niall’s tongue is the best thing he’s ever felt, and Zayn knows the stretch is infinitesimal, but it’s the center of his universe. They’re both sweating and Zayn’s still shaking and they’re probably being twice as loud as they think they are. Zayn’s moving with no rhythm whatsoever, grinding against Niall’s mouth as hard as Niall’s grip lets him, feeling broken open and filthy in a way that he’s never managed just by being rimmed before, and he thinks that he's never going to question Niall's suggestions again.

At some point Niall gets a finger in him, just deep enough that the pad presses inescapably against Zayn’s prostate. Zayn’s whole world speeds up, everything feeling too hot and too fast and too much and _perfect_. He hears himself begging for more, more fingers, more of a stretch, but Niall just moves the tip of his finger in tiny, cruel circles and listens to Zayn chant his name.

Zayn reaches one hand behind his back so he can tangle his fingers in Niall’s hair in an effort to anchor himself. He can feel the vibrations of Niall’s tongue all through him, spreading out in ripples to his fingertips and toes, the pressure on his prostate a constant, pulsing undertone. It just that it doesn’t _stop_ ; Niall’s ruthless with him until Zayn kicks a pillow uncomfortably close to Niall’s head and collapses again, sobbing into Niall’s navel and coming in pulses that feel like they’re pulled from Zayn’s fucking _soul_.

Zayn blinks, dazed, through the first aftershocks, until he can lift himself onto his forearms. Niall’s littering little kisses and nips over every inch of Zayn that he can reach, and Zayn feels a rush of euphoria so strong all he can do is grin and writhe through it – Niall laughing behind him, very familiar with post-orgasm Zayn – before ducking his head and licking a stripe down Niall’s cock, from the tip to base.

Niall’s hips jerk up, and Zayn has to move back quickly so his nose doesn’t slam into Niall’s balls before he can get the tip in his mouth. Niall’s hands tighten convulsively on his ass, and Zayn thinks dreamily for a moment about the bruises he’s going to have tomorrow.

He spends a couple seconds sucking on the head and tonguing the slit, teasing out beads of precome that Zayn swallows greedily. Niall groans. The vibrations from his chest rumble through Zayn’s thighs enticingly, making Zayn’s whole body rock forwards from the hips while Zayn swallows another inch of Niall’s cock. Zayn’s favorite taste in the world isn’t dick, but something about the fact that this is _Niall_ makes him want his come everywhere he can get it, as much as he can.

Zayn sighs through his nose and lets his jaw go a little slack. It takes Niall a second to realize what’s going on, before swearing, loud and long, and Zayn feels one of his hands tangle in Zayn’s hair while Zayn watches Niall shift until he can plant his feet on the bed. “Ready?” Niall rasps, already sounding fucked out. Zayn nods shallowly, eyes fluttering shut while he focuses on relaxing his throat.

Niall gives him about ten seconds to get his bearings, thrusting into his mouth slowly until Zayn’s lips seal around the base of his cock without a problem. From there, it’s all Zayn can do to hang on.

Tears and spit are making an absolute mess of his face, Zayn knows, and he’s fairly certain that his nose must be running in a deeply unattractive fashion, but he also knows that unless he taps out, all Niall’s thinking about is his own cock. Being used so carelessly makes something hot burn in his gut, makes Zayn’s hips start to rock forward of their own accord.

The hand Niall’s still got on his ass lifts and comes back with a hard slap, making Zayn start a little and choke, losing his rhythm. Niall uses the hand he’s got fisted in Zayn hair to help Zayn pull back long enough to suck in a couple frantic breaths and cough before Niall’s bullying his way back in, no training wheels this time.

Zayn doesn’t know how long Niall uses his throat before his hips arch dramatically and Zayn tries to match his swallowing to the angry pulses of Niall’s cock. He knows, distantly, that his throat is going to be an absolute wreck tomorrow and that he can only hope three days will be enough to fix it. He knows that this is one of his favorite things ever.

Zayn kisses Niall’s balls while he comes down, careful not to let his beard touch Niall’s cock. Niall pets him throughout, hands shaking a little and making Zayn want to purr with satisfaction. Eventually Niall gets up and comes back with a wet cloth that Zayn accepts, washing his face and pitching it off the edge of the bed when he’s done. They find themselves on their sides, with Zayn’s head resting on Niall’s hips and Niall’s on one of Zayn’s knees. They’re humming different songs with different tempos, pinching and slapping whenever the other one makes them mess up, and Zayn’s probably aggravating the damage they’ve done to his vocal folds, judging from how much it hurts to hum the high notes. Zayn perseveres, though, until Niall gives up first, and Zayn’s left the winner, triumphantly humming ‘We Are The Champions’ as loudly as he can without beginning to actually sing and sounding like absolute shit. Niall laughs at him, biting a hicky into existence just above Zayn’s knee.

Zayn doesn’t notice Niall’s change in mood until there’s a second love bite, higher up, and Niall’s working on a third, holding Zayn’s legs apart so he can get at his thighs. Zayn moans, tangling his fingers in Niall’s hair to pull him off.

Niall gives him a disgruntled look. “What?”

“Can’t again,” Zayn manages, then flinches a little. His voice sounds _wrecked_ – he’s not going to be able to talk for the rest of break if he wants to be singing again by the next concert.

“Can, too,” Niall disagrees carelessly, but Zayn sees the flicker of concern in his expression when he hears Zayn’s voice. “Just lie back and take it easy, Z. I promised you two, didn’t I?”

A flash of heat runs through Zayn and he drops his head onto the mattress. For a few moments, he debates really putting his foot down, but finds himself spreads his legs invitingly before he can properly finish the thought.


End file.
